


i'll be the first thing you see

by lafgl



Series: fragile heart [14]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Female Percy Jackson, Genderbending, Mild Smut, communication!, it's not smutty it's actually really sweet and awkward sjdhghgf, no beta we die like men, shall we say... lime, we love that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafgl/pseuds/lafgl
Summary: she would make a map of every inch of her body . . . like a carefully constructed palace--wlw percabeth,,,, my brand,,,, lets go lesbians
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: fragile heart [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553368
Comments: 17
Kudos: 107





	i'll be the first thing you see

**“as I kiss your tired shoulder**

**while we spill our minds again**

**over our future growing older**

**not if, but when** **”**

**the first thing you see ..//.. bruno major**

* * *

It isn't surprising that they end up like this. — is it not what Saturday nights are for? Annabeth’s book lies forgotten on the table; she’s situated in Percy’s lap, legs wrapped around her waist.

“They’re not gonna be back until late. And Estelle's with the babysitter.”

So, that’s bold. Annabeth thinks through the implications, erring on the safe side. “So what you’re saying is, Paul and Sally _aren’t_ going to walk in on us making out on the couch _again_?”

She nods. Sally teased Percy about it for days, especially for the mark she’d left on Annabeth’s neck. Almost nineteen and they couldn’t seem to catch a break from her. Annabeth's just glad no one from camp was there to see it; she'd never hear the end of it.

It’s summer, but she feels a chill spread across her body as Percy lifts her shirt off. She’ll never get tired of the warmth of her hands running across her bare skin. Percy kisses her exposed collarbone; she knows it’s going to leave a bruise right under the hem of most of her shirts. Before she goes too far, Annabeth manages to slip her hands underneath her shirt and slide it up her waist, causing Percy to pull away on instinct to let her take it off.

She’s just full of surprises today, evidently. Percy takes advantage of Annabeth’s position in her lap and lifts her up, starting to carry her down the hall, and she practically squeals.

Annabeth’s heart flutters. Is she reading too far into this? “Percy,” she breathes against her neck. _Communication, Annabeth,_ she reminds herself, and laughs out, “ _Percy Jackson_ , are you trying to get me into your bed?”

Percy's thought about it a lot — but Annabeth always seemed to be one step ahead of her in their relationship when it came to actually putting herself out there. To Annabeth's merit, she drops a fair amount of hints. Hints that Percy _did_ notice — it's not that she doesn't think about initiating things, but her nerves get the best of her. Internal conflict rages in Percy’s mind. She’s not 100% sure what her intentions were when she picked her up, either. They’ve made out in their room before, but never _moved_ there. Still, when Annabeth gives her such a playful look, it's hard for her mind not to go there.

Bravery is different in battle; it's strategy and what's right, and coming out above the enemy with your life. With Annabeth, it's the constant 'what if?' of balancing her desires with the nerve of doing something to lose her. Logically, she knows it won't happen, but the thought eats away at her mind anyway. So, she chooses her words carefully, silently berating herself for bringing it up in the first place. “Only if you’re okay with that,” she shrugs (as much as she can while holding her), blushing.

Annabeth decides that’s _very_ okay, responding only by kissing her jawline, and she feels Percy’s balance waver a bit from the attention. She remembers something, hopping down and scurrying back to the couch to pick up their shirts, and Percy shoots her a look, clearly confused (and secretly terrified).

“I’m not taking any chances.”

Percy picks up on her intentions, and the wave of fear leaves her body. “She’s like, psychic or something! She’s going to know either way!”

She’s probably right, but Annabeth rolls her eyes anyways and smirks, grabbing Percy’s hand and pulling her into their room and shutting the door. She takes the lead, sitting her down on the bottom bunk, nothing but smiles as she ties her hair back. Climbing over her legs, she sits in her lap, straddling her.

“Did you lock it?” she glances towards the door.

Annabeth sighs, pursing her lips, “I want you to think about what you just said.”

Percy stifles a laugh. “This is why she replaced the doorknob, isn’t it?” Yeah, it probably was.

Percy looks up at her; she’s studying her like she’s writing a critical analysis of Percy Jackson. It’s not far off from the truth; Annabeth’s rational mind is going over the thousands of ways this could go, and she’s not even sure what Percy’s intentions are anymore.

She widens her eyes and leans towards Annabeth, beckoning her attention, “You ok?”

Her eyes meet Percy’s, “Are we…?”

“I want to. Do you not—” She hopes Annabeth can’t tell how sweaty her palms are.

“No. No. I definitely do.” _More than anything._ Does she sound desperate? Truthfully, she is. There’s nothing she wants more than the inherent trust in giving her whole self to her. Because she does — trust her with her whole life; completely. She traces lines up Percy’s freckled arms with a delicate touch. Annabeth can tell she’s nervous. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t too.

“Okay, because I want to make sure you’re okay and I know this is hard to talk about but—”

She silences Percy the only way she knows how. “I love you.”

It’s rare for Annabeth to say it first. Percy says it all the time; _I'll be right back, I love you; I’m gonna go make lunch, do you want something? Okay, love you; I love you, goodnight._ She needs that. She needs Annabeth to know if anything happens that— She just needs her to know.

Sometimes she says it back, sometimes she doesn’t, but Percy knows she loves her either way. The times were few and far between that she actively said it _to her_. Percy thinks she might be able to count them on two hands:

The first time Percy said it was spontaneous. She had been thinking of ways to tell her — she was even going to make it all romantic. Instead, something possessed her to blurt it out when Annabeth walked in the door practically singing, “I brought pizza!”

“I love you,” she paused, “You don’t have to say anything. I just. I wanted you to know that I do. Love you.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Annabeth mumbled a half-asleep _“I love you”_ as Percy carried her from the couch.

The second time must have been months later, the day they’d been reunited in New Rome after he handed her dagger back to her.

The third, when they were falling together, and she thought it might be her last; and a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and a seventh in close succession in the days after they got out.

And now.

Annabeth doesn’t give time for her to respond, her hands cradling each side of her face as she leans in to kiss her. It’s sweet, but intense, and she feels a hint of fire in the way Percy's hands hold tight around her, making their way up her back. It’s involuntary, but she tenses up when Percy’s hands linger near the clasp of her bra.

They’ve been here before. It’s taken Annabeth a while to grow comfortable in her own skin. She sometimes felt insecure, as she got older, with the way boys started to stare at her when she wore a tank top or shorts on a hot day, but it was easy to cover it up with arrogance. It’s easier now, she’s built up enough of a reputation that most wouldn’t dare, and if she isn’t enough… _there’s Percy_.

It's funny, how she'd always been a little jealous of Percy's body. (Was she? Or was she just suppressing her attraction to her?) She had gently sloping hips and a barely defined waist, built up with muscle from years of training. She's barely changed in the years Annabeth‘s known her, it seems — her jaw more defined, her face more freckled, and her legs more proportionate than the lanky kid that showed up at Camp Half-Blood that fated day — but otherwise, she still has the same lean, boyish figure.

Percy doesn't move, letting Annabeth take her time to undo the clips herself and slide the straps off her shoulders.

“You're staring.”

_So sue her_. In all honesty, Percy thought Annabeth was, well… perfect. She was all rigid angles, while Annabeth was soft, almost delicate (if such a word could be used to describe her). Her thighs were built strong and round, and her hips outlined an hourglass against the curve of her waist; feminine and decidedly mighty. It's a wonder she isn't Aphrodite herself.

“I… am not.” Percy smiles, unmistakably lying as Annabeth watches her eyes dart up to meet hers.

Annabeth hums, teasing. “Yes, you are! I'll never understand what's so—”

“Because you're gorgeous?”

In any other case, Annabeth would've likely scoffed and made some sarcastic remark, but the words aren't there for it. Percy brushes a thumb over the sensitive skin on her collarbone, and she shivers as she feels her lips press a delicate kiss just below.

Annabeth’s thumbs slip under the edge of her sports bra, but Percy’s too focused on kissing her way down her body to notice (or care.)

“Percy,” she warns, voice shaky.

She catches her breath as Percy slowly takes it off, capturing her lips as soon as she gets it over her head, hands raking up her shoulder blades — still, a somewhat familiar scene.

Percy’s hands settle around her hips, not the gentle touch she’s become accustomed to, but one that’s asking for more. She twirls the drawstring of her shorts around her finger, looking into her eyes. “Is this okay?”

Oh, she’s being cruel. Curse her stupid hormones. “I _know_ you know the answer to that, Percy.”

She pauses: “I know, I just… I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Annabeth could easily respond, _You’re taking my pants off, Seaweed Brain_ , but she knows now that unfamiliar things are the easiest when they _talk_ about them. So she asks, “And you think I do?” For all she's thought about what it might be like, she has no idea what might actually happen. She knows one thing, though: “I trust you.”

Percy knows Annabeth has as much of a grasp on this as she does, which is to say, not a lot. Annabeth smiles at her, guiding her hands back to the waist of her shorts, and down, curving around her hips to peel them off. Annabeth can’t stop the laugh that escapes as she tumbles off her lap to kick them off her legs, pulling Percy with her, face to face. Somewhere after 30, she loses count of the kisses she plants on Percy’s jaw. Finding her leg tightly hooked around Percy’s, she uses it as leverage to push her over with a strong hand on her shoulder.

“Too much?” Annabeth blushes, and Percy laughs, shaking her head.

“ _Not enough_.”

Composing herself, she kneels over Percy, fumbling with the button on her cargo shorts. Her hands shake, but Percy steadies them.

Her body’s telling her a million different things. She really, _really_ wants this. She's been thinking, even dreaming about it for quite a while. She’s also scared. It's confusing: she shouldn’t be, because being with Percy is… the most natural thing in her life. The thing that's gotten her this far is trusting her gut, and the heat in her stomach is telling her _more_.

Percy’s hips roll up as Annabeth tugs her shorts down by the belt loops, leaving her underwear. They’re blue — _of course they are_ , but she doesn't feel an urge to tease her about it, at least, not one as strong as her need to feel her way across every inch of skin.

Annabeth kisses her neck, running a hand up the small curve of her chest with the lightest touch, a contrast to the intense attention she’s paying to the thin skin between her lips.

It’s true Percy loves Annabeth leaving her mark — but right now all she wants to do is kiss her, and feel her close. She guides her lips up to meet her own, compelling her into a slow rhythm.

Annabeth indulges her for a minute, but it's not enough. She pulls back; “Look, I know you're trying to be romantic and considerate and everything,” she sighs, because it's so sweet, and so like Percy. “But I might actually kill you if you don't do something soon.” She's gotten this far taking chances, so Annabeth takes another, leaning into her ear: “Because I’ve been waiting for this.”

Okay. In-control Annabeth is _hot_. The thought’s crossed her mind before but it’s never been more enticing as it is now. “Are you gonna tell me what to do?” She intends it as a joke, but the second the words leave her mouth, she knows it’s what she wants.

Annabeth turns beet red. “I— do you want me to?”

“… _Yes_?”

“Then… yes.”

“Okay.”

There’s nothing outwardly life-changing, or sexy, or even mind-blowing about the entirety of it. Neither of them know exactly what to do. But it’s Percy — who cares about her, who literally went to the underworld and back with her — and she thinks, maybe it doesn’t have to be. It's good, too. Different from what she expects, but good. Far from the frenzied kisses they'd shared on their bed before. Slow, and cautious, but so sure. Quiet, too; exchanging little more than short lists of desires, and each other's names. And she's _happy_. Sleep creeps up on Annabeth soon after she finds her shirt and underwear in the mess, and she's perfectly content to stay.

Percy stands, smiling at Annabeth's shirt still on the floor. She must've grabbed Percy's in the dark. Shrugging, she puts it on. As she wraps her arms around Annabeth, Percy finally understands how she can stand to read stacks upon stacks of architecture books. She could spend hours studying Annabeth — she would make a map of every inch of her body, the distance between every freckle and dimple, the precise angles at which her curls fall into her face, the curve of her arched back, like a carefully constructed palace — that would be a book she'd read cover to cover.

* * *

Annabeth wakes up in a mess of limbs, carefully untangling herself from Percy’s grasp. She’ll be happy to sleep for a little while longer. It takes her a minute, but she finds her shorts on the floor, and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging from Percy’s door. Her hair is a mess, it somehow looks even worse than if she ever dared to take a brush to it. She sighs, and and wrestles it into the fluffiest, frizziest bun she’s ever seen. Not to mention, she’s wearing Percy’s shirt. It’s at least two sizes too big, but she doesn’t care to tie it up like Percy does, just letting it drape over her body, the hem barely reaching past her shorts. Wearing Percy’s clothes is definitely something she could get used to, and she’s not quite sure why she hasn’t done it before.

The house is unusually quiet, she thinks, as she walks down the hall. _7 AM_ — she’s always been a morning person. There’s a fresh pot of coffee, still piping hot, so she grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours herself a cup to try and shake the morning away.

Annabeth would like to think she’s an attentive person — her battle reflexes and wit should speak for it quite well. So it’s an understatement to say she’s surprised to see Sally standing in the threshold between the dining and living room when she turns around. Her hand jumps, jostling the mug just enough to fling a drop onto her (Percy’s) shirt. She’s lucky it’s black.

“ _Shit_ ,” she curses under her breath, “Sorry. Um. Just… uh, tired.”

Sally tilts her head and gives the slightest raise of an eyebrow as she lifts her coffee mug to her lips. “Tired?”

“Yeah. Um. Stayed up late. Couldn’t get back to sleep.” She’s aware she’s incredibly flustered and hopes Sally doesn’t bring it up, because she’s pretty sure she’ll just turn into a blubbering mess.

“Is Percy still…?”

“Asleep. Mhm,” she hums, rushing the conversation. “How was your date?”

“Great,” she smiles, “One of the best restaurants we’ve ever been to.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Although I suppose I should ask you how _your_ date was.” Sally gives her a once-over, taking note of Annabeth's unkempt curls and her daughter's _Rolling Stones_ shirt, gaze landing on her neck, and Annabeth almost spits out her coffee as she puts the pieces together. One dangerously large t-shirt plus… well, she’s about _99.9%_ sure there’s a giant bruise on her collarbone.

“I—” Heat rises to her cheeks in a dizzy flush, and she reflexively tugs at the collar of the shirt.

Sally chuckles, shaking her head. “Never gets old.”

She knows better than to sputter out a response, fully aware it would make her look like even more of a fool. So, Annabeth drinks her coffee in silence on the couch for the next half hour as Sally makes breakfast.

“Annabeth?” Percy calls from the hallway. Worry laces her voice — it’s something she can’t help.

“I’m here,” she turns back to see Percy making her way into the living room.

“You should’ve woken me up,” she pouts, landing in Annabeth’s lap.

“Someone’s up early,” her mom chimes in from around the corner at the sound of her daughter's voice.

“It just seemed like a good day,” Percy says with a smile, her tone nonchalantly jubilant, but her eyes telling a different story as she runs a mischievous hand up Annabeth's waist.

Annabeth narrows her gaze, unamused. _Is she always going to be like this now? I've created a monster._

“Well, come get breakfast, early birds.” In a swift move of the spatula, Sally places the last pancake in a neat stack and heads towards the table. Annabeth practically sees the gears turn in her mind as she notices her daughter in her girlfriend's shirt, in _yesterday's clothes_ , setting the plate down with a distinct clink against the wood. “Lord,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “I do _not_ need to know these things.” She heads down the hall, leaving them alone to process what just happened.

“Gods, Percy, haven't you ever heard of wearing _pants_?” Annabeth groans, mortified.

She shrugs, “Didn’t seem to bother you last night.”

“You’ve traumatized your mother,” Annabeth stifles a laugh, “She’s never speaking to us again! I hope you know that, and I hope you’re happy.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“You love it.”

**Author's Note:**

> im yeeting myself into the void


End file.
